


Ephemerals

by roselightsaber



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Anniversary, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, Flowers, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Married Banter x1000, Massage, So Married, sensory play, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 22:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10397586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselightsaber/pseuds/roselightsaber
Summary: Nothing beautiful grows on Jedha anymore. The Temple has fallen and the shadow of the Empire looms over the moon, but there is still beauty to be found.





	

“The beauty of nature finds a way.”

It takes Baze several seconds to realize the petite woman is addressing him. Such words are not usually directed at him, a man who worked so hard to look intimidating and unapproachable. Such a shield was highly valued on Jedha these days – these uncertain days where the once bubbling river of NiJedha’s marketplace streets is dotted with deadly stones, smooth white things armed with blasters and tanks and an inexplicable sense of righteousness. Everything about Baze Malbus broadcasts, intentionally, that he is not to be trifled with. He rather hopes that a trip to the last flower stand in the city will not tarnish that image, but even if it does, it will be worth the fallout.

Nonetheless, the young woman's voice catches him off guard. “Nothing beautiful grows on Jedha,” He grumbles back, even as his fingers dance over a ruby-red blossom (imported, no doubt). “Not anymore.”

“I import seeds,” She retorts indignantly. “Everything you see grew here, even if it didn't grow right in the sand.”

Baze just sighs. It's not the point, by a long shot, but damned if it doesn't give him some misguided feeling of pride anyway. “I'm not looking for beauty, anyway.”

“I see.” A faint smile crosses the florist’s face, twisting Baze's stomach into wary knots. “You must be Master Malbus.”

“There are no Masters here anymore,” He answers evasively, scowling at the flippant wave of her hand.

“It's all clear right now, you don't have to go through the whole act.” She waves him a little closer. “My mother told me all about you.”

“Your mother – Eha Gai is your mother?” Baze can practically hear Chirrut's voice in his head. _Do all assassins blurt things out so easily, or just you?_

“She is, and she apologizes that she couldn't say goodbye.”

“She's alive…” He should be more careful, of course. But Force -- _she's alive._ Many of his confidants, the shop owners who had kept him and Chirrut alive in those first days, who had saved their children, helped evacuate so many orphans and guardians, friends and family of the temple, had not fared so well. “When she vanished I…I thought the worst.”

“I was able to secure a transport for her. And now I have my own shop.” She smiles, the weight of the world bearing down just beyond the edges. It reminds him of Chirrut. “It's a win-win.”

“I'm –” He swallows, steadying his voice carefully. “I am so glad to hear it. Send her my best, when you're able.”

“Well, I'll do what I can.” Her smile goes sly, like her mother’s. “Of course, a sudden windfall would make it easier. _Since_ you're already shopping, Master Malbus.”

Baze can't help chuckling. “A salesman through and through, like your mother. Since you've talked about me, perhaps you know what I'm here for?”

“One of two things. And you seem to be in too good a mood to be here for information.” She gestures toward a tangle of white blossoms. “Perhaps these?”

“These and some of the red ones,” He says, his voice dropping low despite that she was correct in her assumption that he was not there on business. “And whatever else might go with them. The color doesn't matter but the texture and the scent have to be nice.”

“How many years now?” She asks, smirking. “I told you, my mother gave me all the intel.”

Baze looks her over a moment, considering. “Sixteen,” He answers with a faint smile. “We were impatient.”

“I have something special,” She replies, much to Baze's relief choosing to ignore his lightly flushed cheeks. She retrieves a small potted plant from a low shelf, out of sight, a spindly thing with small yellowish blooms. “In fact, Mother sent me the seeds. Not much to look at, but it smells lovely.”

Baze can't restrain a smile. The plant is ragged, clearly struggling to survive the harshness of their moon, but still blooming, still richly scented. “He’ll love it,” Baze murmurs, dimly embarrassed as soon as the words escape him. “I usually get a bouquet.”

“I'll do my best to live up to Mother’s legacy.”

Baze makes a hasty retreat home, repeater cannon in one hand, bouquet in the other. They're not as dissimilar a pair as they seem right away; neither looks like much, cobbled together from parts that don't fit perfectly. But they'll both do the job, and Baze takes an uncharacteristic amount of pride in both. The difference is he brandishes the cannon at every chance he has and a few he creates himself – the flowers he'd rather keep only for Chirrut. This is necessity, though, the reverse of how Baze would have it given half the chance. He pushes the thought aside as he nears their home, their one-room quarters they wouldn't even be able to afford if not for Baze's network of friends, caregivers. Today is not a day to dwell on the darker practicalities of their lives.

Chirrut is already home when he arrives. “My Baze,” He greets cheerfully, as of nothing had changed, as if he was joining him in their bedroom at the temple instead. That was their true home – one that they'd shared so long, a comforting, warm place full of memories. A place that might be rubble now. They could not get close enough to be certain.

“My Chirrut,” He responds with a smile, the bright, sincere one he doesn't let outside their room anymore. “My lovely little bird.”

Chirrut's laugh sparkles across the small space, rich and joyful. “ _Oh,_ you must have something planned. That nickname doesn't come out for nothing these days.”

“Mm? Have I been holding it back?” He has, he knows, but anything to keep his voice light now is worth it.

“You have,” Chirrut replies, petulant as he crosses their narrow space to fold Baze up in an embrace before he can even toe his shoes off. “It's been a while since you called me that.”

“I'll do it more then,” He promises, and he means it though the words come so quickly that they are almost instinctual. “All these years, little bird,” He coos, putting a hand to Chirrut's cheek. “All the trouble we've seen, but time has been so good to you.”

Chirrut chuckles and rises up slightly on his toes to kiss him, dutifully ignoring the paper-wrapped flowers against his back. “Too many years for you to resort to such flattery, my dear,” He teases. “But I'll take it, anyway.”

“But I mean it…”

“I know,” Chirrut laughs, leaning in for another kiss. Baze savors it longer this time, holding him close, the sweet-scented bouquet still pressed between his shoulder blades. “Seventeen years and you still make me feel this way.”

“Sixteen, isn't it?”

“Depends where you count from,” Chirrut grins rather than admit the error. It's terribly effective. “You could add on another ten if it were up to me.”

“You just realized it sooner.” Baze pulls back, kisses his forehead to make up for it. “I’ve already apologized for that.”

“I'm not looking for an apology.” His smile, impossibly, goes even brighter as the rustle of paper moves across his back. “I never was. We have plenty of time, my dear.”

Baze smiles in spite of his doubt. They _had_ time. Now, it is far less simple, far less clear. But if Chirrut believed it, then Baze would too. “No apology then,” He laughs, setting down the bouquet to unfasten his armor, his shoulder harness, all the trappings of hardness and intimidation he needs to survive outside falling away within these walls. “Let's just enjoy the rest of today.”

“Not only today, my husband.” Chirrut may be blind, but he is the one who sneaks up on Baze, helping him set aside his gun, his armor, his worries. “Give me those flowers, you old fool, I can't pretend not to know you have them forever.”

Baze laughs again and grabs for the bouquet, holding them out to Chirrut. “Take them then, you brat.” The words are nothing but adoring, though, leaning just a little closer. “There's something new in there. Miss Gai’s daughter is running the stand now. She found her mother a transport offworld, safe and sound.”

“I didn't even know she had a daughter. I'm happy to hear she's faring well.” Chirrut closes his eyes and leans in to take a deep whiff of the bouquet, hands curling around Baze's. “They're beautiful, love.”

“There isn't a lot of beauty left on Jedha,” He murmurs fondly, lifting one hand to Chirrut's cheek again. “Except right here, of course. I'm lucky to still get to enjoy it.”

“Flowery words to match my gift.” A slow smile spreads across his face. “There is more beauty left here than you see, my Baze.”

“I save up these words for you, so hush and appreciate them.” He forces all the sternness he can manage into his voice and still sounds nothing but soft and adoring. “And take these flowers. I got you a mix like usual. There are some different things, something Miss Gai sent seeds for, just for you.”

Chirrut beams and takes a seat on their low sleeping palette, Baze following suit with a hand at the small of Chirrut's back, never quite letting go of him entirely. He watches intently as Chirrut's graceful fingers trace delicately over petals, first the jagged, ruffled white blossoms. “You always pick just the right thing.”

“I know your tastes,” He replies simply, eyes following Chirrut's fingers across red blooms. Chirrut leans in to smell them again, and Baze's gaze catches on the curve of his cheek, following it down to a smile of pure contentment. Warmth spreads from his chest outward, rippling out to his fingertips as he watches him pinpoint the small yellow buds, the woody stems of the third flower. Baze leans over, lets his head droop onto Chirrut's shoulder as if the weight of the affection growing within him is too much to hold up. “I love you so,” He whispers. Flowery words, counter-intuitively, come far simpler to him than these direct ones.

Chirrut sighs, blissfully happy in spite of all they've lost, and turns to kiss the top of Baze's head. “I love you too, Baze. Always and forever.”

“Do you still keep them?” Baze can't imagine the answer is no, but then – so much has changed lately.

Chirrut can sense his concern building behind the words, soothes it with a hand at his cheek. “Every year.” Slim fingers follow Baze’s jawline before moving to his lips, tracing the beginnings of a smile. “Dried and pressed and there when we need them. Still smelling as sweet.”

“Do you have plans for these?”

“Not yet. But I have plans for _you_.” He smiles cheekily. “Would you put these in a vase for me, love? I'll get your gift prepared in the meantime.”

“Plans,” He chuckles. The plan is usually the same – neither tends to deviate from this tradition. He arranges the flowers in the vase, creating different patterns, watching Chirrut more than what he’s doing. The other is making their bed neatly, interrupting himself to fish around for a box underneath it. It’s all so simple, so familiar, but to Baze’s eyes it is beautiful, this dance between the two of them. He’s a creature of habit anyway, but since losing their home – far more than just the temple structure itself – he languishes even more in these fleeting moments of normalcy.

Baze pulls one large blossom back out of the bunch and pads softly back to Chirrut, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “What’s this?” He singsongs, leaning back against him as he takes the bloom between elegant fingers. “For me? Are you trying to charm me, stranger?”

“You are far and away the stranger one here.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a happily married man,” He goes on as if Baze hadn’t spoken, grinning ear to ear. “I can’t just accept flowers from handsome strangers.”

“You can’t because they’re not offering,” He grumbles with all the faux-gruffness he can muster, nuzzling teasingly at Chirrut’s cheek. “Only a ragged old fool like me would still try to win your heart these days.”

“Lucky for you, that’s just my type.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in luck.”

“I don’t –” He stumbles over his words when Baze nips at his ear teasingly, and again at the sensation of his low, rumbling laugh of satisfaction against his skin. “You know what I believe.”

“All sorts of optimistic nonsense,” Baze answers, a hand slipping upward to find a warm sliver of exposed skin at the front of his robes. “Beautiful things, just like you.”

Chirrut inhales deeply, the scent of his flower filling his perception. Baze can feel each step of the process as he chooses to avoid the potential argument, as he breathes out petty squabbles and more serious worries and draws another lungful of this rare moment of peace. “For a man who never says much, you are full of poetry today.”

He smiles warmly, lips pressed against the side of his husband’s neck. “Are you truly complimenting me or just casting yourself as my muse?”

“Come,” Chirrut laughs – not _really_ answering, Baze notes – and turns to face him, still holding on to his flower. “You’ve worked hard today. Let me give you your gift.”

Baze kisses his forehead. “As you wish, little bird.”

“Your little bird,” He repeats faintly as he moves to set the flower on his pillow. Baze is sure his next words will be to tease him for laying it on too thick, for being so easily consumed with his affection, for somehow turning into a sap after all these years. Instead, there are no words at all, just a soft smile as if he’s letting that name soak in properly. Chirrut turns back to him after a comfortable silence and lifts both hands to Baze’s face to _see_ him with touch, to trace over lines he knows well and probably to discover a new one here and there, too. “My handsome warrior,” He murmurs, a title given with reverence, solemnity softened by the smile pulling at Chirrut’s lips. “You haven’t changed since we were teenagers.”

“Romance makes you delusional,” Baze says with a shake of his head, knowing that Chirrut can feel the silly smile it brings to his face.

“There may be an extra line or two. And this.” He gives Baze’s beard a gentle tug with two fingers, pulling a particularly childish pout from him. “But the important things are the same. The softness is the same no matter how you cover it up. Here…” Fingers ghost over the corners of eyelids that flutter shut, sweeping downward and toward the bridge of his nose, feather-light. “Those kind eyes of yours never change.”

Baze sighs, resigned to the fact that he’s probably making exactly the face that leads Chirrut to say such foolishly lovely things. “Because I’m always looking at you.”

Chirrut takes a long breath that catches subtly in his throat before leaning in for a kiss, slow and lingering this time. When they part at last it’s an act of extraordinary self-control that keeps Baze from pulling him right back, instead watching with awe as Chirrut pulls his own rosy lower lip into his mouth as if to taste the remnants of the sensation. He takes a moment to gather himself again, and Baze feels a surge of something bordering on possessiveness, a rush of desire to push him back out of that calm center.

He doesn’t get a chance to linger in it, though, before Chirrut is catching his hand and pulling him close, feeling for the fastenings on his flight suit. “Wear something else next year,” He mutters offhandedly, giving up on finding the closures in favor of shaking Baze playfully by a handful of the rough fabric. “I hate this thing.”

“How do I pick out something sexy to wear for a blind man?” It’s halfway between teasing and a real question, and Chirrut takes it as such.

“Creativity,” He suggests, still jerking the collar of the garment around until Baze forcibly pries his fingers off it with a grunt of complaint. “You pick out beautiful flowers for me, so I’m sure you can think up something.”

“I’ll think about it,” He says evasively, unfastening the jumpsuit himself and letting the top half fall to his waist.

That’s enough of a distraction to keep Chirrut from pressing further, instead walking his hands up Baze’s arms with a smile that is no longer so soft, head cocked, looking vaguely predatory. There’s every opportunity there to spark something primal, but Baze is willing to hold off for now in favor of his traditional gift. Chirrut seems to sense as much, and reaches back for a bottle he’d retrieved earlier. “Made with oil pressed from last year’s flowers,” He says proudly, holding it out to him.

Baze turns the vessel in his hand. He feels the flow of the specially-crafted massage oil inside, warmed from within, and as soon as Baze flips the cap open he can smell the sweet floral scent of Chirrut’s favorite blossoms. The massage is tradition – this addition is an intriguing change. “Oh? How did you do that?”

“You are not the only one with access to the endless world of NiJedha marketplace favors,” He replies with a grin. “In fact, it seems that your contacts are very familiar with my name already.”

Baze smiles sheepishly. “Half of the things I ask of them are for you. And they’re trustworthy. You know that I keep your name safe.”

“I know, love,” He chirps, plucking the bottle from Baze’s hand again. “Lie down. Let’s try it out and make sure you don’t have to go get me my money back tomorrow.”

He does so, stretching languidly, pillowing his head on his folded arms as he looks back at Chirrut. “I am not going to face anyone who knows you bought this for me for several days at the soonest.”

“How many flowers and trinkets and treats have you bought from them over the years for me? They certainly know that you have something good to come home to by now.” Baze has his eyes closed but he can hear, and smell, the bottle opening again as Chirrut pours some in his hands. “Or do you tell them we just hold hands by the fire all night?”

Baze groans in embarrassment, tucking his reddened face in the crook of his elbow to hide as Chirrut chuckles delightedly. “I don’t give them _details_.”

“I believe that,” Chirrut snorts, leaning over to start rubbing his shoulders, hands gliding slick-smooth over his skin thanks to the oil. “Sixteen years and you’re only just starting to give _me_ the details.”

His flush doesn’t fade but Baze does laugh, at least, tilting his head as Chirrut works out the worst of the tension across his shoulders. “I think carrying that thing around is starting to wear on me. Or maybe I’m getting old.”

“I know you mean the gun, but you carry too much aside from that too. Relax.” He presses his thumbs on either side of Baze’s spine and slides them to his tailbone. “Of course, the world doesn’t help you with either lately.”

“We live in the same world. We carry this together.”

“We do,” His tone is softer now, no longer playful, and he shifts to continue massaging down Baze’s back. “Deep breaths,” He whispers, intimate, close to Baze’s ear. “We don’t need to think of it now. Tonight is ours. I won’t have your worries or mine taking that away from us.”

Baze closes his eyes and lets Chirrut’s soft voice, his gentle hands warm him through, pushing out the fear and anger that rules their lives so often now. Everything smells like flowers now – Baze laughs softly as the absurdity of it. “How many of your flowers did your new confidant put in there, anyway? I feel like we’re rolling around in a garden.”

“It’s a little strong,” Chirrut agrees with a laugh, untying knots from Baze’s lower back. “We never did roll around in that garden. You wouldn’t go along with it.”

Memories of the Temple of the Whills have mainly gone unspoken between them, too fresh a wound to touch, but now, with Chirrut close, smiles on their faces, there is a pleasantness to the nostalgia. “I worked hard to keep those plants alive. I couldn’t have you kicking around crushing them.”

“We wouldn’t have had to _actually_ roll, you know. We could have just found a spot between plants –”

“You would have smashed at least one plant. I’d bet my life.”

Chirrut laughs loudly and swats Baze’s ass none-too-gently, leaving a vague impression of his oily hand on the fabric. “You’d like to think you could have gotten me worked up to such a state.”

“It would have been so _easy_ ,” Baze teases right back, wriggling to roll onto his back despite the flower-scented splotch he’ll surely leave behind. He grabs Chirrut by the waist and hauls him over on top of him – a feat he’s well-aware he can only achieve with Chirrut’s willing consent, despite the other man’s indignant yelp. “If I’d finally said yes and taken you right there, all surrounded by flowers, you would have gone _wild_. We would have gotten caught thanks to your yelling.”

Chirrut snorts. “If romance gives me delusions, what is this that’s causing yours?” He plants both hands on Baze’s chest, slick fingers splaying against solid muscle. “There were no flowers in that garden, it only smelled like dirt and daro roots anyway.”

“You still asked me to have you there five times!” He objects with a loud bark of laughter, hands seeking out the hem of Chirrut’s robes to slip beneath them and slide over his thighs. “Besides, you seemed to like that smell on me.”

“That is _different._ ” He leans down with purpose, kissing the corner of Baze’s lips. “But you are right about that. At least we had that balcony.”

Baze rolls his hips up a little, smirking when Chirrut tilts his head just so, focused on the feeling. “That was more private. Although there was still the problem of your mouth.”

That draws exactly the feral grin from Chirrut that Baze was hoping for, and he doesn’t object beyond a soft grunt when the other snatches a rough handful of hair to haul him up for a kiss. “I do not recall you ever having any objections about my mouth.”

“Some things are worth the risk,” Baze concedes before Chirrut’s lips are on his again, crushing, desperate. Baze is breathless before he lets him go again in favor of moving down his neck, teeth and tongue and lips leaving faintly blooming marks in his wake. Baze just gasps a sharp breath and wonders how that same gentle man tracing flower petals with his fingers could overtake him so easily. They are to each other, he supposes, whichever side of the coin they need to be.

Chirrut makes his way back up Baze’s throat, the other tipping his head back prone to him. “I would have given anything to be with you. I still would.” He tips his head against Baze’s as if to rest from that sudden outburst a moment, perhaps more emotionally than physically. “You were cautious, but I know you wouldn’t have given me up, even if we’d gotten caught.”

“You are always worth it,” Baze whispers in reply, though what _it_ is isn’t terribly clear to either of them any more. They’re into their thirties now, no temple elders to mind them, no particular responsibilities now besides staying alive and learning to move on. They have little to give up, but the words are no less true. “I’ll never leave you, not for anything.”

Chirrut presses closer, breathing deeply against Baze’s neck, the mingled scent of flowers and skin filling his perception. “Do you remember the night you bent me over the parapet in the eastern tower?”

Baze groans for so many different reasons he can hardly comb through them in his mind. “We were so foolish. Even without the risk of being caught that was – ill-advised.”

“The wind whipped all around – it felt like flying.”

“Do I still make you feel that way?” Baze asks, suddenly earnest even as he reaches toward the task of undoing the careful folds of Chirrut’s robes.

“Like a reckless youngster,” Chirrut confirms with a laugh, making no move to help Baze with his clothes. “High up there above it all.”

Baze hums an answer he can’t find words for and finally frees Chirrut’s upper body from his robe. The sight of him never becomes less stunning, sculpted by years of rigorous training, solid and strong. That shooting heat cuts through him again, the mixed urge to give his all to Chirrut and to take him for himself. “I never want that to fade.” It’s a promise – one of so many he’s made to him – but not without that sneaking anxiety that Chirrut had managed to push away for a fleeting moment. “I’ll always be good to you,” He swears, for having too much pride to beg _never leave me_.

“I know, Baze,” Chirrut sighs, kissing along his jawline. “After all these years we’ve had together, you’ve shown me more than either of us can say.”

Between the two of them, they untangle Chirrut’s robe from around his waist until he’s left in nothing but close-fitting breeches, and Baze’s hands are back on his thighs in an instant, stroking up and over his hips luxuriantly. “Where’s that oil?”

“What’s wrong? Starting to remember the scent of the air when it’s not soaked in flowers?” Chirrut passes his the bottle with a laugh.

Baze pours a little of the fluid into his palms and rubs them together. “I was worried you’d grow disinterested when you realize it doesn’t smell like dirt and daro roots.” He rubs either side of Chirrut’s neck, unable to hold back a groan when his husband tips his head back, blissful at his touch. “Looking so pleased already. Have I neglected you so much?”

“It’s like this whenever you touch me,” He murmurs, a rare and fleeting look of sheepishness crossing his features. “You take good care of me, my love.” Something else flickers across his expression, playful and dangerous at once. “Always so dedicated to me.”

Baze sinks into that look even if he’s not sure what it means. “I am dedicated to nothing else,” He promises against Chirrut’s throat. “Not like this.”

A soft sigh escapes Chirrut as Baze’s hands slide lower, smoothing over his chest, framing him so carefully that Chirrut feels as though he can see himself the way Baze does, admiring places he likes best, seeking out sensitivity, anything to garner a reaction from him. “You know just how to please me,” He murmurs, sending a shiver all through Baze, followed swiftly with another when he lets out a moan as Baze thumbs at his nipples.

“I do,” Baze affirms, leaning to leave a trail of kisses everywhere he’s touched. Chirrut’s praise always leaves him warmed, brings a flush to his cheeks and sends the spark of a thrill through him. He doesn’t like to ask for it, but he is not above encouraging more of it nonetheless. “Don’t I make you feel good?”

“You make me feel so good,” Chirrut assures him, leaning forward to brace himself on the wall behind Baze as he touches their foreheads together, gathering his thoughts once more. “You are amazing, my love.”

“Sixteen years,” Baze murmurs, hands sliding slowly down Chirrut’s body to rest on his hips. He knows every inch of him so well already, but tracing over the soft angles of his waist down to his hipbones is never any less intriguing. “I’ll take care of you for so many more, love.”

It’s the type of sentiment Chirrut normally scoffs at – he needs no protecting, no guidance. He is self-sufficient and always has been. Now, though, he takes them for their intended meaning: love and comfort and devotion. He droops forward, winding his arms around Baze’s shoulders, nuzzling under his ear. “I’ll take care of you too, my husband.”

Baze’s hands clutch at his hips as they lose themselves in another kiss, holding firmly until he feels him moving, the faintest roll of his hipbones against him palms. He closes his eyes, memorizing the simple, intimate sensation of desire blooming in Chirrut again, the subtle way his touch grows more wanting. Baze smiles into another kiss and slides a hand around to squeeze Chirrut’s ass, drawing a soft moan from him. Chirrut presses closer a moment, reaching behind Baze’s back. It takes a moment before Baze realizes what he’s up to when he feels a ticklish line being drawn up his spine – Chirrut had grabbed that single flower from the pillow next to him and was tracing teasing patterns over his back with the petals.

Baze sighs happily against Chirrut’s shoulder, marveling at the man’s capacity to catch him off guard. He’s less surprised by the other’s silly smile. “Does that feel good?”

“It does,” Baze murmurs, shivering when Chirrut trails the flower over his ribs. He leans back at Chirrut’s urging.

“Close your eyes,” Chirrut orders, firm though his voice still has that sweet, playful lilt. “And put your hands down.” Baze does so, twisting his fingers in their bed sheets to resist letting them creep back up to Chirrut’s thighs. He arches toward the confusingly pleasant-but-discomfiting sensation of ruffled petals tickling down his sternum. He might have given in and touched Chirrut again if not for his words. “You look good like this,” He breathes. “My strong warrior undone by a flower.”

“Not so surprising,” He laughs, if only to cover just how much the brush of the blossom over his nipple is affecting him – though Chirrut is not at all assuaged by such an attempt.

“Beautiful nonetheless,” He coos, dragging the bloom slowly down his abdomen until he hits the fabric of his jumpsuit and scowls. “Except this.”

“I would take it off, but you told me to keep my hands down.” Baze laughs loudly when he is struck sharply on the cheek with the flower, hard enough to shake loose a petal. Chirrut drops it next to his head and sets to work in an instant, hands in a frenzy to tug the fabric down his legs and _off_ , finally. He throws the whole beige monstrosity across their little room with a huff and retrieves his flower as if the entire proceedings are becoming a terrible bother.

“You’re taking advantage of my impatience.”

“So are you!”

Chirrut snorts in a manner that is intentionally neither agreement nor denial, and returns to trailing the flower – minus a petal – along Baze’s ribcage. “But I’m doing it for your benefit.”

“Is there something I can do for you, little bird?”

“Hush,” Chirrut answers, and though Baze’s eyes are dutifully closed again he can feel the smile on the other’s lips as he silences him with a kiss. “Just let me spoil you.”

It’s more challenging than it seems, especially once Chirrut voices his intentions so directly. Indulgence isn’t a part of their lives lately by necessity, and moreover is something Baze has a storied history of pushing back against. Pleasure, it seemed, had been so elusive for him early in his life that it took Chirrut time and effort to remind him that enjoying himself need not come at a price. For some things, though, he’s always had soft spots, and Chirrut knows how to find them. Baze nods at Chirrut’s words, sucking in a sharp breath as soft petals cascade down the line of his hip, Chirrut’s other hand wandering over everywhere else he can reach. Baze groans, already half-hard, all this teasing doing away with any hope of restraint on his part. He opens one eye mischievously, greeted by the sight of Chirrut taking a moment to indulge himself.

He runs wide-splayed fingers down his torso, seeing with touch. “You feel like life,” He murmurs, so reverent that Baze feels somehow guilty hearing it. He breaks his promise to lift a hand to Chirrut’s cheek, but rather than object he nuzzles into it, eyes fluttering shut. “My Baze.” His eyes open again and Baze feels so known that he forgets for just a moment that those don’t see him directly. Chirrut’s touch is still mapping him thoroughly though, trailing the blossom along particularly responsive areas, tickling his inner thighs until he spreads his legs in a silent plea for more.

“Chirrut, love,” Baze finally breathes out. “I need you.”

“I know,” Chirrut replies, no sarcasm in his tone, only sincerity. Baze is not difficult to read in these moments. He kisses him again, brief but heated, and reaches for the remaining massage oil. Setting the flower across Baze’s chest, he pours the warm liquid in his hands and reaches for his thighs again, massaging thick muscles while shifting him into a more comfortable position lying back, no longer leaning against the wall. “Do you remember the night I had you in the guard station during that storm?”

“Of course I do.” A smile crosses his face at the memory. “I told you I loved you that night.”

“My romantic man…” He leans down to trail kisses down his abdomen, still stroking his thighs, deliberately trying to draw out the moment. Baze is well-aware of it, and even if Chirrut’s breath on his cock is beginning to make him positively _ache_ , he appreciates the intention. He props himself up on one elbow and reaches to ruffle Chirrut’s hair with his other hand. “You’ll get that oil in my hair,” He half-heartedly complains in between kisses across his hips and teasing nuzzles into coarse hair.

“We’ll have to spend a little extra time in the ‘fresher washing it out then,” Baze laughs. “Won’t that be terrible?” He bites his own lower lip as Chirrut ignores his teasing in favor of mouthing at the base of his shaft; he can feel him breathe deeply, drawing in the scent of flowers and the scent of Baze all at once. He lies back again, allowing himself a rare moment to simply bask in the attention, cradling Chirrut’s head in one hand and rubbing absently at his shoulder with the other. “How does a devout monk get so good at that?” He teases again, earning him a silly grin from Chirrut.

“You say that as if such a thing is at odds with my faith,” He quips between vulgar swipes of his tongue, a smirk on his face to assure Baze he knows the other is watching him. “Pleasing you has always been part of my devotion.”

Baze shivers. His own faith has faltered, perhaps beyond repair, but he cannot deny Chirrut nor the Force in this moment. A deep groan escapes him as Chirrut closes his lips around him, another as he takes him deep enough to swallow around him before slowly drawing back again, moving steadily as Baze’s fingers comb through his hair. “That’s good,” He murmurs, and though the words seem insufficient, Baze figures the half-choked tone with which they barely escape his lips is enough to make up for it.

When Chirrut finally lets him fall from his lips, it’s all Baze can do not to object – though much to his chagrin a noise of complaint escapes him anyway, completely out of his control. “Don’t worry love,” Chirrut murmurs, licking his reddened lips. “I’m not going to leave you like that.”

It’s all nearly overwhelming, and Baze feels his head start to swim with the overload of sensation. Chirrut keeps him hanging on, a grounding hand stroking low on his belly as he shifts his hips again, snagging a pillow to tuck beneath him. “We’re officially getting old,” Baze jokes once he can catch a breath. “We never brought extra pillows to our hiding places.”

“This is for comfort,” Chirrut laughs, pouring more of the oil in his hand and over Baze and near everywhere else in the process. “Not adventure.” He slides two fingers into the cleft of his ass, nuzzling his thigh appreciatively as he rubs over his entrance. “We can get back to that another day.”

Baze just nods, presses against his hand shamelessly. Perhaps he really does have a limit on his words as Chirrut has accused him of before – they just won’t come to him now. They aren’t exactly necessary, though, sufficiently replaced by soft moans and the occasional desperate touch to whatever bit of Chirrut’s skin he can reach. Even when Chirrut asks him if he’s ready – whispered so softly, close to his ear in deference to Baze’s lingering shyness – he does so with a hand against his cheek so he can feel him nod an enthusiastic affirmative. Warm affection takes hold of him again even now; Chirrut knows him impossibly well. When he presses a finger inside him he sees stars.

“Just relax, love,” He purrs, opening him up slowly, senses sharply attuned to any note of discomfort or tension from Baze. “Let me hear you when it feels good.”

Baze sighs as Chirrut slides another finger into him, intrusive and pleasant all at once, too much and not enough. “Good,” He manages to mumble, though the deep-down needy groan that comes with a third finger is much more telling.

“It’s been a while since I had you this way,” Chirrut muses, and Baze can hardly gather his thoughts long enough to wonder how it is even possible for Chirrut to still be so collected. Next time, he thinks, he will have to turn this scenario around. “You feel so beautiful.”

Baze mumbles something essentially wordless but unmistakably impatient, the words breaking off into something much too close to a _whimper_ as Chirrut presses his fingers relentlessly against that bundle of nerves within him. “Please,” He finally chokes out before he can stop himself, and all at once Chirrut is gone from his senses, leaving him feeling hollow.

He opens his eyes to see Chirrut stripping off the last of his clothes before returning to straddle Baze’s hips again with an amused smirk. “Did you think I’d leave you here all empty and shivering?”

Baze groans. “Don’t tease me now.” As if to make sure he doesn’t, Baze snags the oil and pours more of the slick liquid over his hand – they’ll get through the whole bottle tonight, he thinks – and moves to stroke Chirrut’s length, sitting up slightly for a better angle. “You look so good like this,” He sighs, snatching back just enough dominance for Chirrut to grab away again.

He does so with gusto, not even bothering to answer. He simply swats Baze’s hand away and gives himself a few strokes before unceremoniously pushing Baze to his back again. Baze doesn’t bother to subdue a smile at his husband’s roughness, but it falls apart into another wanton moan soon enough anyway as Chirrut positions himself. He moves so slowly at first that Baze desperately wants to grab him, pull him to go faster or at least voice a demand or two, but being shoved down has him unwilling to take back control for the moment. Instead he tries to even out his breathing as Chirrut takes his time, on the verge of something like meditation by the time Chirrut hauls him up for a kiss as he thrusts into him in earnest, impatience finally pushing him over that feral edge Baze has learned to adore in him. He’s rough, no longer so steady or careful with him – nor does Baze want him to be – positively consumed with seeking physical pleasure after all their talk of love and spiritualism. Baze wishes he’d give in like this more often.

Two pairs of hands wander desperately over skin, searching as if neither one of them can see. Chirrut, in fact, seemed to be doing better in that regard, cupping Baze’s cheek affectionately in one hand once he’s seemingly returned to himself somewhat. “Are you alright, love?” He asks, and there is still _something_ in his voice that is anything but gentle despite the words, despite the slowing of his movements. “I can feel you drifting.”

“It’s good,” Baze assures after a moment, struggling to shape the sounds that keep getting away from him into words. “I love when you’re like this.”

Chirrut hums and slides his hands to Baze’s hips, holding him steady; whether he’s grounding him or just keeping him where he likes Baze isn’t sure though the effect is much the same in either case. Chirrut pauses only briefly to press a curious hand over Baze’s heart before he starts moving again, sending searing heat all through the both of them, glowing white-hot and tangled up inextricably even in Baze’s always-too-dim sense of the Force. Chirrut is even more erratic now but he has the wherewithal, at least, to wrap skilled fingers around Baze as he thrusts into him relentlessly, moans echoing loudly and shamelessly in the small space. Neither lasts much longer, Baze pushed over the edge as he feels Chirrut spill inside him, hears him moan-whisper his name like a prayer. Chirrut doesn’t move yet, making a show of licking his hand clean as Baze watches in a near-paralyzed haze of post-orgasmic bliss.

“Oh, Chirrut,” He murmurs after a few long moments of coming down from the high. “You are _amazing_.”

Chirrut just pats his chest with a laugh and shifts to flop gracelessly next to him. “Love you,” He murmurs, a voice that sounds mere seconds away from a very deep sleep.

“I love you too – hey, we have to clean up,” Baze objects weakly, nudging Chirrut to lift his head so he can rescue his flower from beneath it. He plucks a few petals and leans over to sprinkle them on Chirrut’s chest absently.

“We do,” Chirrut agrees, lifting a petal curiously before letting it fall back where it lay. “Decoration?”

“It suits you,” Baze mumbles without further explanation, kissing the corner of his lips. “It’s your color.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Matches your sash,” Baze goes on, teetering dangerously on the edge of sleep himself as he sprinkles more petals down Chirrut’s abdomen, soft against hard muscle. “Looks pretty against your skin.”

“You’re just doing that so I’ll get up to get clean.”

“Not _just_ for that.” He yawns and shifts to press a lazy kiss to each petal, taking his time with each spot from Chirrut’s shoulders to one just below his navel that sticks to his lips as he draws away. He kisses it onto Chirrut’s, watching with a smile as he pulls it away with careful fingers. “…We do have to get up, though, my little bird.”

Chirrut finally sits up, petals raining down as he pats Baze’s cheek again, fingers scratching pleasantly in his beard. “Sixteen years, love,” He says with wonder, finding Baze’s mouth with a finger and then his lips. “Good ones and bad ones. But nothing fades. I always have such hope for us.”

“Flowery words?” Baze teases gently, coiling an arm around his shoulders as he sits up despite the protests of his muscles.

“Scraps of them, maybe,” He laughs, leaning into him.

“They’re beautiful,” Baze assures, kissing his cheek. “Now come. We’re going to smell like flowers for weeks as it is. The bed will probably hang on to it even longer.”

They finally stand, unfolding slowly as Baze takes Chirrut’s hand to lead them to the refresher, toward washing away the various evidence of their indulgences tonight. “I hope it soaks in for good,” Chirrut declares around a yawn, pulling another sleepy chuckle from Baze.

“There’s still a whole bouquet,” He reminds him. “And we have many years ahead.”

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the title:
> 
> "Many of the wildflowers in the desert environment are what botanists term 'ephemerals', which means that they have extremely rapid and short life cycles, growing only when the right scenario occurs. When conditions are right, their seeds will germinate and the plants will quickly spring up, flower, create their seeds and then perish, scattering these seeds about the desert. This ensures the survival of the species." (from http://www.gardenguides.com/85698-desert-flowers.html)
> 
> And a special thanks to my Ragethirst chat buds (really this should be on all my fics) and especially Chuchi with whom I talked about all manner of goofy married flower gifting scenarios before diving into this one!


End file.
